Avebury
by Chef Erica
Summary: Story 3 of my Chance Encounters, Pleeeezzzzzz R&R. And if you get the chance check out my other stories as well. Thanx so much. :D


Avebury: 1897  
  
The mists lay thickly on the countryside, hiding the beautiful heather covered moors and beckoning its little mistress to come play.  
  
***  
  
Little Marguerite woke early that day, on spring holiday. She could hear the milk cow lowing in the barn as one of the servants roused her from sleep, and the chickens clucking as the cook fed them. Quietly she slipped from her bed and opened the window.  
  
Making sure the coast was clear she climbed out the second story window and shimmied down the ivy-covered trellis without changing out of her silk nightgown. The flower people were waiting for her, and she had to keep her promise to play with them.  
  
***  
  
John Roxton snuck out of the old estate to the stables. No one else had risen yet after the party his father had thrown last night, to which he had not been invited because he was too young, but he wasn't disappointed. He had snuck into one last year, and was not impressed with the frilly gowns and twittering girls that surrounded Wills as he tried to fend them off.  
  
When he reached the stables he found Mr. Robinson already saddled and ready to go, though not very happy about it. He snorted his discomfort as John knelt to rub some of the stiffness from his knobby knees.  
  
"That old pony 'asn't 'ad a decent night's sleep since yer da give 'im to ye," an ancient man with a think Irish brogue commented from a stool nearby as he puffed his pipe. The old man leaned back as he studied the youngster with keen green eyes, their sharpness defying his age. He had his old brown hat pushed back over his balding head of what was once full of bright red hair, and his white neatly trimmed beard hid many of his wrinkles.  
  
"I know O'Malley, I'll make it up to him, though, I promise. I brought him an apple." The pony was already pulling on the pockets of the old jacket, where his treat was hidden.  
  
"Ye'll spoil that gud fer nuthin' nag, Master John," O'Malley teased, the smile belying any reprimand.  
  
"I know, but I just can't help myself, I have a soft spot for ancients," John quipped back, earning a disgruntled harrumph from the old man. John mounted his noble steed, feeling very much like a knight of King Arthur's Court and bid a farewell to the trusted stable hand. To add affect he pulled grabbed a broken pitchfork handle and tied a red silk scarf to it to serve as a standard. Before he left he turned Mr. Robinson to face O'Malley. "What do you think?"  
  
O'Malley laughed at the sight before him. "Ya look right dapper, Master John." Then he sobered a bit, "Now, if you insist in goin' out inta the fog this mornin', ye stay well away from those standing stones, and don't go a followin' no strange lights. The Wee Folk are out and about, and they will lead ye straight into one of their castles and keep ye there."  
  
John placed his hand over his heart and with a smile playing on his lips swore, "I promise not to go chasing any fairies O'Malley."  
  
"Oh, ye mock me now, but someday ye'll be saying 'that old man, O'Malley, 'e wasn't so crazy after all.'"  
  
John chuckled as he nudged his mount forward and disappeared into the thick fog.  
  
***  
  
Around the standing stones the fog shifted and rolled gently, as if embracing the tiny girl that twirled in their midst. Her frothy silk nighty floated around her as she spun, becoming one with the mists that surrounded her and tiny lights floated and danced around her, weaving in and out of her hair, hovering near her face, then darting off, only to come right back to her as she giggled with glee.  
  
Marguerite felt like a princess in her flowie gown, and the flower people were her subjects.  
  
***  
  
John wandered through the moors of his family's estate, not too worried about old O'Malley's warnings of fairies waiting to steal him away to Tir Nan Og. The old man was so adamant about his belief in fairies, he didn't know what would happen if he actually ever saw one. "Probably suffer heart failure," he muttered to himself.  
  
John hoped the fog would lift soon. Though he knew every inch of his father's estate, the horse was not quite so trusting, and wouldn't move faster than the slow plod as long as he couldn't see in front of him.  
  
John loved this little horse, but he longed for the day when his father would gift him with one of the Thoroughbred champions bred in the stables. Father had promised him one of the yearlings for his twelfth birthday, and he would also learn how to break and train the fledgling horse, he was so excited.  
  
John was shocked from his musings by the giggle of a small child. Jerking his head up, he searched around, but could see nothing through the thick mists. Mr. Robinson sensed his unease and grunted, but remained calm, not at all disturbed by the nearby child, only by his rider.  
  
Slowly the mists began to thin, and John realized he had gone much farther than he had intended. The standing stones began to take shape before him, towering above him like silent centurions guarding a precious treasure. He drew closer, searching for the source of the sound as the mist continued to fall back, reminding him of a retreating army.  
  
Suddenly a moving form took shape, dancing and swaying, surrounded by twinkling lights. It was small, and at first he was inclined to believe that a young child had somehow lost her way and was playing, but the more the fog receded, the more mystical the figure became.  
  
Her long curly mass of raven hair was wild and unkempt, framing a pail face and luminous eyes. Atop her head rested a crown of heather and morning glories, and her white gown was like that of a regal fairy princess.  
  
Much to young John's consternation, the Fae Royal ceased her enchanting ballet. Slowly she turned to face him, and he was surprised to see the face of a child no more than six years present itself to him, but it was the most beautiful face he had ever seen in his life. Behind her the mist formed what appeared to be gossamer wings as she studied him for what seemed an eternity with timeless silver eyes.  
  
Finally, just as Roxton was beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable beneath the intense scrutiny of the fairy a slow grin spread across her face, revealing the most in captivating smile he had ever seen. Before he could say a word, she stepped back as the vaporous wings enveloped her.  
  
Roxton leapt from his pony, frantically searching for where she had gone. In his haste he dropped the red flag he had created inside the circle of mushrooms sprouting within the stone structure.  
  
Heaving a great sigh of defeat John trudged toward his mount, convinced that the haze planned on keeping it's secrets.  
  
***  
  
Marguerite retrieved the red silk scarf, running the soft fabric through her fingers, and tracing the white monogrammed 'R' with her thumb. Gradually realization dawned on her, Marguerite was late. She tied the scarf around her neck and darted back to her uncle's small estate.  
  
***  
  
John led the way to the stone pillars. Wills had laughed at him when he told his tale, but he was determined to prove it. O'Malley wasn't far behind the brothers, wanting to see for himself the Wee Folk. Most of the morning mist had dissipated hours ago, but one never could be too sure where magic was concerned.  
  
John dismounted and darted to where he had left his now bare standard laying in the thick grass.  
  
William looked around, obviously not impressed, "The only things here are mushrooms and a bunch of old rocks, Johnny. I think your eyes were playing tricks on you."  
  
"But these aren't just any mushrooms, Master William," O'Malley stated as he bent to get a closer look, "This be a Fairy Ring, left by the Wee Folk after a night of festivities. I'd be almost certain that young Master John 'ere really did see 'imself a Fairy Princess."  
  
"You two believe what you want to believe, O'Malley. I'll see you back at the house." William mounted and trotted back toward home, laughing at his brother's overactive imagination.  
  
"I really did see it, O'Malley," John defended weakly, "They even took my scarf."  
  
The old man rested his bear paw like hand on the boy's shoulder, "I know me lad, but sometimes it's best to keep it to yerself. The Wee Folk are a secretive bunch, and they let ye watch them. That was their gift to ye. Ye keep it in yer heart, and never forget it, and someday ye may get to meet that Fairy Princess of yers."  
  
John sighed and nodded his head, not entirely understanding the old man's words of encouragement. He turned back on last time, and almost thought he could see tiny spheres of light resting on a branch of a tree just beyond the other side of the stone circle.  
  
***  
  
The Pixies sadly watched the warrior go. Someday he would save the mistress, unfortunately, today wasn't that day. 


End file.
